With the technological super highway accelerating in light years, 2011 sees the advent of the ‘Laptop Set’. Its premise it simple, to deliver a disarming flurry of highly complex composition without the need for live instruments.

Raising the bar for this innovative strain of live entertainment is electronic golden boy Will Wiesenfeld. Performing under sonic alias Baths, I paid homage to the man of the moment at his live show at Cargo, London.

Transpiring underneath an arch shaped ceiling, the venue teems with a collection of forward thinking fashionistas, and pretty eyed girls. Diverging from the usual live set up, the sound desk is housed in an alcove in the right hand side wall. An entanglement of thick black cabling stretches across the stage platform, and onto a table kit at its forefront. Perched on top of it, a diminutive Macbook slowly blinks against the deep blue lighting bathing the room.

Ushered onto the stage unto a cacophony of wolf whistles, support act Starslinger brings a microphone to his mouth. A robust bear of a man, his introduction is somewhat incongruous with his physical stature as he says ‘I’m Starslinger from Manchester, here's some music I’ve made’.

Instantly, a barrage of cosmic blue light shoots out from behind him. Towering over his drum machine, his curtain of dead straight hair sweeps downwards masking his facial features. With the sting of iced vodka wedged in the back of my throat, Star Slinger reels off a live rendition of ‘Mornin’’. With the audience clapping in time to the cascading snare samples, he sways elegantly to the building melody as he skillfully turns the dials on his drum machine.

Making a composed exit, he ‘hopes everyone has had a good time’ by resting the microphone gingerly on the table ledge below. Stood watching the support act for the past half hour, Will Wiesenfeld casually hops behind his sterling silver Macbook.

Setting a jet-black microphone into its stand, he wastes no time by breaking into ‘Apologetic Shoulder Blades’. Grasping the mic with both hands clasped around its handle, he chants cherubically as his voice flutters into the air. Paving a racetrack of shivers from the base of my spine, a swarm of ticker tape clicks bubbles from the speakers.

Adjusting the silver veneers of his glasses, a devilish glare plays in his eyes as he segues into ‘Animals’. As a web of red lasers project a rotating pattern on the far side wall, Baths manipulates the dials on his chaos pad with bullet quick timing. A delectable catalogue of multi-texted drums resonates into the room, and Baths is in his element as he concentrates on his beat modulator with a Zen like intensity.

Garnering an interminable wave of applause from his fans, his voice is drowned as the crowed shake their limbs with the nonchalant swagger of elated children on Christmas morning. The future of music is here, and his name is Baths!